


Spell It Out

by angstytimelord



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Foreshadowing, Gen, baby!Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 00:23:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstytimelord/pseuds/angstytimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Will likes making words with his blocks - until those words take on a life of their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spell It Out

He liked playing with his blocks. It was one of the many things he did when he was alone.

And he was alone almost all the time. His parents never seemed to be around; he had no siblings, not little sister or brother to play with, and no older ones, either. It was just him, always alone.

Will liked it that way. There was no one to bother him, no one to make him feel inferior. There was no one to laugh at the fact that he lived in a tumbledown house, that his parents both worked all the time, that they didn't have much money.

Nobody to laugh, nobody to point fingers. Just him. Alone.

The way he wanted it.

He tilted his head as he moved the blocks around on the floor, absently making words. C-A-T. He knew that one. D-O-G. R-U-N. Those were easy.

He smiled as he kept moving the blocks, the words forming and then disappearing. Making words was fun. He already knew lots of them; when he'd eavesdropped on one of his teachers talking to his mother, she had said that he was reading at an "advanced level." Whatever that was.

It sounded good, like something he should be proud of. So he was.

H-A-B-I-T. He knew what that was. It was what his mother called his father's smoking. And his drinking. A bad habit. One that she wanted him to stop.

Will frowned at that thought, moving the blocks around faster. He didn't like to think about his father's smoking and drinking. His mother worked so hard, and she was always tired. The fact that his father made her unhappy with his bad habits made Will unhappy, too.

He wouldn't think about it. If he didn't think about it, then it might go away all by itself. He didn't really think so, but it wouldn't hurt to try.

Maybe if he kept spelling out words like that, all the bad things would go away.

The blocks almost seemed to be arranging themselves, spelling out words that he knew, but that he didn't remember meaning to spell. The words kept coming, and he kept sounding them out in his head, spelling them out in the brightly colored wooden letters.

H-O-M-E. D-A-R-K. T-E-A-R-S.

Will frowned again, a little trickle of fear snaking down his spine. He didn't like these words, but they didn't seem to want to stop forming.

Suddenly, it didn't feel like _he_ was the one making them any more.

H-A-N-N-

What was that word? It wasn't one he knew, one that he didn't want to spell out. There was something about the word that was trying to form that felt dark and foreboding, a word that drew him closer even as he struggled not to move the other blocks into line.

I-B-

His hands trembled as they picked up the blocks, then set them down neatly in a row. He didn't know what that word was. He could sound it out, but he didn't want to.

It was bad enough to spell it out, to feel the darkness reaching for him.

A-L

Will wanted to scream, but the sound stuck in his throat. It was caught there, unable to come to fruition; he couldn't have made a sound no matter how hard he tried. He wanted to run away, but he was rooted to the spot, staring at the word spelled out in front of him.

The blocks seemed to smile up at him with an evil grin all their own.

HANNIBAL.

He didn't know the word, didn't want to know it. There was something about it that terrified him; whatever it meant, Will knew that it wasn't anything good.

Suddenly, he didn't want to play with his blocks any more. Making words was no longer fun.

Slowly, he got to his feet, picking up the blocks and trying not to look at them, putting them away neatly into the toy chest at the foot of his bed. He had a feeling that it was going to be a long time before he wanted to spell out words with those blocks again.

He would play outside for the rest of the day. Better yet, he would find one of the books his mother had bought for him and practice reading.

Will took a few steps towards the door, almost feeling that there was something trying to call him back. He could almost hear the voice; sweet, low, seductive, calling his name. He saw those letters flash before his eyes again, still not knowing what they meant.

HANNIBAL.

He fled from the room and down the stairs as if the hounds of hell were snapping at his heels.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm probably going to hell in a handbasket for writing this. Go to hell, go directly to hell, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. I don't care. It had to be written just so baby!Will would stop kicking my brain, throwing a temper tantrum & screeching "WRITE ME! WRITE ME NOW!"


End file.
